


Wax and Wane

by foramomentonly



Category: Glee
Genre: Future Fic, Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-08
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-03 23:33:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1074350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foramomentonly/pseuds/foramomentonly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The second time they break up, it's Kurt who falters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wax and Wane

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually a submission to Klaine Advent Drabble Challenge 2013, but I worked very hard on it and struggled a lot; and I ended up really appreciating it. So I'm posting it as a separate fic as well as in my KADC series.

The second time they break up, it’s Kurt who falters.

Kurt is twenty-one and works full time as Isabelle’s assistant, having left NYADA after a demoralizing year during which lessons and practice hours became the arduous tasks Kurt suffered through before racing to spend a few rewarding hours at Vogue.com. Isabelle informs Kurt one day that a designer friend of hers is looking to hire a couple rookies in the fashion industry as assistants for a summer project in Paris; it will mostly entail minor hemming and adjustment work, but the experience will stand out on a resume, and Isabelle has already whispered Kurt’s name in the designer’s ear. She hands him a phone number, and when he hesitates, adds earnestly, “This could be the beginning of Kurt Hummel, fashion visionary. I hope you’ll at least consider it.”

Kurt rushes home to the loft to discuss the prospect with Blaine. He expects hesitancy from his fiancé; he anticipates a heated debate in which he will defend his right to seek opportunity and growth independently and comfort Blaine’s lingering insecurities of failure and abandonment. But he is met with a supportive and ecstatic Blaine, who claps his hands in wonderment and insists Kurt make the call tonight.

Kurt boards a plane in June and finds a hand-made “Good Luck!” card from Blaine in his carry on, bittersweet sentiments penned in Blaine’s perfect cursive on the inside cover: “Every day I will miss you, but every day I will smile knowing you are over there building a fabulous career for yourself and a wonderful future for us. I love you!” Kurt shakes his head with a smile; Blaine’s scrapbooking is truly out of control, he thinks as he presses the card in between the pages of a book. Still, when he gets to his hotel room, he almost unconsciously sticks the card in the corner of the mirror above his bureau.

* * *  
The first month he is away, Kurt nearly drowns in homesickness. Relocating to New York at eighteen had seemed effortless, but while Kurt has attributed this fact to his own independence and strength, he realizes now that he leaned largely on the familiarity of old friends and the instant connections with new ones to ease the transition. The designer -- Kurt’s boss -- is friendly and respectful, and his fellow assistants are personable and sharp, but no one Kurt has met in Paris has Isabelle’s openness and warmth, Rachel’s challenging brand of encouragement, nor Blaine’s comfort and acceptance.

Kurt works hard, always the first and the most sincere offerer of overtime, and he spends his nights and weekends in his hotel room, Skyping with Blaine or working on sketches he instantly declares the most lackluster of his career. His depression is so obvious that Kurt’s boss convinces Isabelle to extend her layover in Paris one dreary Wednesday and gives Kurt the afternoon off to meet her for lunch.

“Is Brant not happy with my work?” Kurt asks in a panic over apéritifs.

Isabelle grasps Kurt’s hand over the table and shakes her head with a soft smile.  
“Of course not, honey,” she says, “but he is worried about you. He says you don’t seem happy here, that you are having trouble adjusting.”

“No!” Kurt instantly denies. “I love the work, I am so grateful for this opportunity! Please, tell him-”

“Kurt, he doesn’t mean in your work. He’s talking about your general outlook.” She tilts her head toward him sadly. “This isn’t just a career opportunity, Kurt. This is a life experience. You’re in Paris! You are working with some of the most promising new minds in fashion design! The world doesn’t stop turning unless you let it. Go out; make some friends, or at least some possible future business connections; see the sights. I promise that New York and everything and everyone you have there will not disappear just because you allow yourself to enjoy your time here.”

He chuckles at her small, knowing smile, and replies, “Yes, fairy godmother.”

* * *  
He follows Isabelle’s advice, of course; and it works, of course. Kurt takes weekend excursions to Versaille and Montmartre, and he develops an intricate and detailed map and timetable that, if his calculations are correct, will allow him to visit every museum once, and the Louvre three times. And he begins spending his down time in the company of his associates; a girl named Melanie whose views on mainstream appropriation of the fashions of sub-cultures Kurt finds fascinating joins him on several museum outings, and Thursday nights the whole group regularly convenes at the hotel bar for stress relief and light socialization.

One night, Kurt and a man called Andrew have an hour-long debate about neck scarves that drives the others to turn in early. Kurt and Andrew order another and then another drink, and talk turns personal. Andrew is twenty-four, a Pratt graduate whose professor -- his very own Isabelle -- “practically forced” Brant to take him on, and is a bisexual man in a long-distance relationship with his artist girlfriend, who lives in Boston. They close the bar discussing men and past relationships, and Andrew invites Kurt to his room, where he enjoys two more glasses of red wine and a wet, but enthusiastic blow job.

* * *  
Kurt wakes in the morning with a throbbing headache, his pants open and sticky cock on full display, and a shirtless Andrew snoring softly against his chest. He’s achy and ashamed, because, despite the flowing alcohol, Kurt had been of sound and clear mind when Andrew had bruisingly kissed Kurt’s wine-stained lips and urged him to recline on the edge of the bed as he dropped to his knees and reached for Kurt’s belt. Kurt extracts himself from Andrew’s embrace and visits the bathroom, popping two pain killers and gulping down a glass of water. He hears the bed creak and a soft moan from the next room as he’s splashing water on his wan face. Kurt squares his shoulders in the mirror, retrieving two more aspirin and filling up a second glass of water to take out to Andrew.

Their conversation is short and surprisingly simple. Both admit to being fully cognizant of their actions the night before, but tactfully confess regret that it happened. They agree to acknowledge, but move past the events of that night, and vow to be friends. Which is a fairly easy promise to keep; there is no sexual tension nor desire between the two men, who reached for each other out of a need for comfort and intimacy. They will interact casually and amiably for the rest of the summer, and no one will harbor any suspicions. Andrew does not intend to tell his girlfriend. Kurt knows he will tell Blaine.

It’s still early in the morning -- barely eight o’clock -- and Blaine took over Kurt’s hours at the diner when he left, so it’s possible that Blaine is online, decompressing after an evening shift. He is.

Kurt has no expectations of this conversation at all. He tells Blaine. He cries. Blaine does not. His shoulder slump and his breath seems to leave his body in one great rush, but he remains calm. He asks Kurt why.

“I don’t know,” Kurt whispers.

Blaine shakes his head.

“I need to process this,” Blaine says, already shifting his body to stand, to move away from the screen and away from Kurt. “I need time.”

“What does that mea-” 

But Blaine logs off before Kurt can finish his sentence, before he can ask if he’s still entitled to wear the ring.

* * *  
Kurt hears nothing from Blaine but radio silence for another two and a half weeks. During that time Kurt works, and he takes walks, and he sketches; which is to say, he thinks. He was honest when he told Blaine he didn’t understand his own actions. But literal days of work that necessitates little more than muscle memory and the faintest of consciousnesses have allowed him to work toward a sense of clarity. The first time infidelity rocked their relationship, it was rooted in Blaine’s insecurity, and his own selfishness. But Blaine has grown into himself, individually and in their relationship. Kurt hasn’t completely. He left home relying on his fortitude to carry him through, but had underestimated the strength he gleans from his proximate support system in New York and, even earlier, in Lima; as a result, his confidence waned, and he stumbled, seeking comfort first in isolation, then in a fleeting intimacy.

Blaine arrives at Kurt’s hotel room unannounced on his last week in Paris; apparently, Blaine’s parents gifted him this trip as an early birthday present, going so far as to book him a seat on Kurt’s return flight. Kurt opens the door and Blaine is in the hall, suitcase at his feet and a map in hand. Kurt meets his eyes and they are damp, but open.

“I’m sorry,” Kurt breathes, falling against Blaine in an embrace that liquefies his bones.

“I know,” Blaine mumbles against his chest, holding him loosely in return. 

Kurt pulls him tighter.

“I need you,” he whimpers, oblivious to the door falling shut behind him and the people casting curious looks as they pass down the hallway. “I know I don’t always show it, I know I e-expect things from you that I take for granted. I know I’m selfish.”

Blaine nods, his stubble scrapping Kurt’s cheek, and Kurt laughs. He pulls back to look into Blaine’s eyes.

“I know all that. But I do need you. I know that, too. And I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Blaine says, “and I’ve forgiven you. I have.”

He drops his gaze to his shoes, and his voice softens.

“I know what it’s like to feel lost, to falter. But I need to know if this was about losing faith in yourself, or in us.”

“Myself,” Kurt replies instantly, “I promise. I’ve never felt so far away, I didn’t realize how different it would be having no one around me, I disregarded all the support I had in you and in Rachel and I just --”

Blaine kisses him then, light, but insistent.

“I know, “ he says.

Kurt smirks at him, eyes wet.

“You know everything now?”

Blaine smiles and leans in, running a hand down Kurt’s chest.

“Let me tell you what I know. I know that you felt insecure, and you made a mistake, and you’re sorry. And I know that we love each other and that, if we’re willing, we can make us strong again. And I know that we have a whole week together in Paris to start that process.”

Kurt smiles, standing tall and reaching for Blaine’s suitcase with one hand, clasping Blaine’s hand where it rests on his chest in the other.

“Let’s get started.”


End file.
